Of Ails and Ills
by Throughtherye
Summary: After an encounter with a dangerous creature, Merlin is doomed to a deadly illness, and he turns to the only person he can trust: Arthur. Together they set off on a journey to restore Merlin's health, but with the warlock growing constantly weaker, the task may prove more difficult than imagined. Bromance, whump.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is my first merlin fanfic, and after watching season three i decided to try my hand. Hope you all enjoy! This is a bromance, no slash. Thanks for reading and please leave a comment when you're done! Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

Of Ails and Ills

The afternoon had been uneventful until a pack of huge winged monsters descended on the citadel of Camelot. Merlin had been busy fetching water for Arthur in the pump outside, when dark shadows were cast over the courtyard, and loud screeching filled the quiet. Merlin looked up to see what Gaius had later described to him as harpies, large humanoids with wings and fierce talons.

Merlin dropped the bucket of water with a clatter, and ran inside as the screaming and yelling began to start. Arthur was swamped in paperwork when Merlin burst into his chambers a few minutes later.

"_Mer_lin," Arthur growled, standing up to scowl at his manservant. "Have you ever heard of knocking, clot pole? I'm in the middle of some very important-" He was cut off by a loud screech just outside of the window.

"There are huge, flying monsters outside, and they don't look friendly," Merlin panted, having run up numerous flights of stairs to alert the prince. Without a word, Arthur grabbed his sword from the table and told Merlin to warn the other knights. Arthur went out to the battlements of the citadel, where soldiers gathered with their crossbows, attempting to shoot down the flying beasts. It was no use though, as the harpies had skin reinforced by magic, making their hides very hard to penetrate with a simple arrow.

The other knights joined Arthur, and drew their swords, preparing for a fight if the creatures flew close enough. The harpies flew lower, screeching and flashing their talons, making the soldiers and knights duck and run for cover.

Merlin watched from below in the courtyard, knowing he had to act, or else they would never defeat the monsters. He was at a loss as to what he should do, though, so he did the first random thing that came to mind. He started yelling and waving his hands, and he took rocks and used his magic to hit the heads of the harpies with them.

For a minute, Merlin was pleased with himself for having attracted all of the harpies' attention. Then he ran for his life, ducking through doors and finally making it into the throne room. Arthur watched in horror as all of the harpies followed in after Merlin.

"Merlin, no!" Arthur yelled, but it was too late. Merlin had already closed the doors to the throne room, locking himself in with the winged creatures. "Idiot!" Arthur groaned, as he ran back down the battlements toward the throne room.

Inside the throne room, Merlin was battling the monsters with fiery balls of light, but they seemed to do no more than irritate the harpies. Suddenly, one of the harpies ducked under his defenses and slashed his arm with its deadly sharp talons, making Merlin cry out in surprise and pain.

The magic seemed to come out of nowhere, as a powerful blast of wind emanated from Merlin. The wind drove the harpies to crash out of the windows, and Merlin watched as they flew away into the distance

Merlin lay panting on the ground, a stinging pain shooting up his left arm where the harpy had slashed. He looked down to examine the wound, and sighed in relief, for the cut was not at all deep. On closer inspection, however, he noticed that mingled in with his dark red blood was a strange bright green liquid oozing slowly from the wound.

"That can't be good," Merlin said, as the doors to the throne room were pushed open, and Gaius, Arthur, and Gwen rushed in. Gaius went straight to the young warlock, seeing the blood on his arm, and gingerly surveying the damage. Gaius began ripping up pieces of fabric and binding the wound, causing Merlin to hiss in discomfort.

"Merlin," Arthur turned on his manservant after looking over the destruction of the throne room. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?" He put his hands on his hips while Gwen and Gaius helped Merlin to his feet.

"You know me, Sire. I wasn't," Merlin replied in his usual snarky manner, but Arthur wasn't in the mood. He merely glared down the young warlock, letting his body language convey the message that they will talk later, as Gwen helped him out the door and to Gaius' chambers.

After a slow march to the physician's chambers, during which Merlin complained constantly that he was completely capable of walking without Gwen's support, Merlin was put down on to the table that Gaius reserved for his patients. Gaius busied himself with mixing a sort of poultice for the wound and Gwen sat down next to Merlin on the table.

"How did you defeat all of those monsters? And what were they, anyway?" The second question she addressed to Gaius, always the expert on magical creatures. Gaius bent over to apply some of the poultice to Merlin's wound before speaking, and saving the young warlock of inventing a lie to cover up his use of magic.

"They are called harpies, Gwen," Gaius dabbed the substance on Merlin's arm. "They are magical beings, and have notoriously thick hides, which make them difficult to kill." The old physician paused in his dabbing. "Merlin, did you get this from one of the harpy's talons?" He indicated the gash on Merlin's arm.

"Yes, but its not that bad of a wound, Gaius," Merlin replied, taking in Gaius' frozen form. Gaius turned and began frantically turning over books on the shelf while Gwen and Merlin watched in amazement. Finally Gaius found the book he had been searching for, and immediately he flipped to a certain page.

"Ah, here," he said and read aloud from the page. " Harpies, being creatures of magic, have an enchantment on their talons, making them hold a slow acting poison. If the poison from a harpy's talons enters the bloodstream, it will bring about a destructive illness, which, if left untreated, can prove to be fatal," Gaius finished to a silent room. Gwen was about to speak when the door was thrown open and Arthur stomped in, a rage building inside of him.

"Merlin," he rumbled. "Do you know how much damage your little stunt caused in the throne room? Do you know those things might have killed you, and you're lucky to get away with just a scratch? The knights could have handled this alone, but no, you had to go play the hero and wreck the throne room!" He was breathing hard, but he wasn't as angry about the throne room as he was about the fact that Merlin could have died. He realized that they could probably see the real intention behind his reprimand, and so he hurried on. " I mean, if you had died, I would have to train another manservant, and, well, I... I could do without the trouble."

He expected a witty remark from his manservant and was prepared to give him a good-natured slap to the head, but none came.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to keep down the worry in his voice, and his eyes focused in on Merlin's wound. "Is it really that bad? The cut doesn't look that deep from here..." In answer, Gaius gave him the book, and he bent over to read the passage. There was a long pause as Arthur pondered this situation.

"But it says here that there is treatment," Arthur began after reading about the fate that awaited Merlin. "So all we need to do is go find whatever can cure Merlin. Right, Gaius?" He allowed his hope to build in vain as he waited for an answer.

"I have heard of a place," Gaius said carefully. "A spring at the foot of the Black Mountains. A drink from the Waters of the Dryht should cure such an illness. It is dangerous, though, Sire. The spring lies in Cenred's kingdom."

Arthur had hardly swallowed this piece of information before he made up his mind. If there was a chance he could save Merlin, then he had to take it. He couldn't let him die, especially not a painful death like this one.

"I leave tomorrow at first light," Arthur declared. "Gaius, could you get me a map to this spring-" He was cut off by Merlin jumping off the table.

"You're not going by yourself!" Merlin said, indigence coloring his face. "You'll get yourself killed, and then Camelot will suffer just for the sake of a lowly manservant!"

"Merlin is right, Sire," Gaius put in. "Besides, it would be better for Merlin if he could drink directly from the spring, and then you wouldn't have to rush home to give the water to him." Arthur sighed, knowing that he could not fight Gaius' logic.

"Fine, then, _we_ leave at first light," Arthur said resignedly. He looked over to Merlin. "Rest that arm of yours, okay? I don't want you to be hurting even before we leave the city."

He swept out the door, a determined look on his face, and Gwen reached out to take Merlin's hand.

"It _will_ be all right, Merlin. Arthur will take care of you. He cares so much about you, even though he doesn't always say it. He would die before letting anything happen to you," Gwen gave his hand a squeeze, and then followed Arthur out the door.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Merlin sighed to himself. He grabbed his old bag from on top of the cupboard and began to rummage through the various objects littering the tables.

"You can pack tomorrow morning, Merlin," Gaius said lightly. Merlin looked up from his task, and Gaius recognized the fear shining in his bright blue eyes.

"I really should get everything ready. Arthur will kill me if I hold us up tomorrow..." Merlin trailed off, and Gaius put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Wait until tomorrow. You need rest," Gaius said as he gently patted Merlin's shoulder. Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Gaius raised his eyebrows and gave him a smile. "Rest," he said once more, and he gave the young warlock a little push in the direction of his room.

"Good night, Gaius," Merlin said in a small voice. Gaius smiled back at him, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Good night, my boy," The physician answered as Merlin closed the door to his room with a click.

**Reviews make my day! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter, and thank you all so much for the reviews and follows! Hope you enjoy! Please leave a review when you're done!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

Merlin was woken early in the morning by a strange parched feeling in his mouth. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and was greeted through the small window by a cold and foggy sky looming over the silent city.

Merlin's body was suddenly racked with heavy, dry coughs. He nearly fell off of the bed as he stumbled hurriedly to the door. Once in the outer chamber, he grabbed the water skein off of the table, greedily gulping down the water. His throat was soothed for the moment, and he stopped coughing. He sat down heavily at the table, and glanced over at Gaius' sleeping form in the corner.

Wearily, Merlin pulled his old bag over to him. He began to look through the bottles and items around him for anything that might prove useful on the journey into Cenred's kingdom. As he reached for a jar of herbs, numbness crept through his arm. He took the jar in his hand and held it up to examine the contents, only to have it slip through his now fully numb fingers.

The crash woke Gaius with a start, and the old physician scrambled to his feet to see Merlin staring with a puzzled look down at the broken glass scattered about the floor.

"Merlin!" Gaius said, as he walked over to survey the damage. "What on earth happened?"

"I...I don't know," Merlin replied as he flexed his numb fingers. "I just..." Gradually, the feeling returned to them, and he looked up at Gaius. The physician frowned, taking in the abnormal flush to Merlin's cheeks.

"Here," Gaius said, passing Merlin another bottle of herbs. "I'll help." Merlin bent down to clear up the glass, but Gaius stopped him. "I can do that later, my boy. What we need to worry about now is getting you ready."

Together, in a comfortable silence, the two bustled about the room, gathering various random objects to stow away in Merlin's now bulging bag. The silence was broken by an occasional cough from the young warlock, making Gaius glance up at him in concern, and also casual queries Merlin posed over the necessity of a certain substance.

After they had filled the bag with every essential known to man, they drifted over to the door. They could already hear from the open window the clatter of horse hooves and Arthur calling orders out to the stable hands. Gaius continued to recheck the contents of the bag, and asked Merlin if there was anything else he needed. When Merlin replied in the negative, Gaius took a long look at his face before speaking.

"Take care of yourself, Merlin," Gaius said before drawing the boy into a hug. Merlin pulled back suddenly to cough wretchedly into his sleeve. Gaius waited until he was done, then pulled him into another hug. "And both of you, come home," Gaius said.

"Don't worry, Gaius," Merlin hoped he sounded confident and assuring, but he feared he didn't sound that way at all to the old man. "Arthur and I will be back, before you know it."

After a final hug, Merlin eased away from his tutor and friend, waved once, and left through the door. Gaius moved to the window, a somber look on his face, as Merlin appeared in the courtyard below.

Arthur was finishing with the horses when Merlin walked up behind him. He handed Merlin the reins to his horse, noting the hollow look in his manservant's eyes, and the general pallor to his features.

Gwen was there as well, silently watching the two men get ready as she absentmindedly stroked one of the horses. She, too, saw the subtle differences in Merlin's appearance, not to mention the hastily covered coughs that came about repeatedly.

With the final touches finished, the two mounted their horses. Merlin looked about the courtyard and found himself wondering whether he would ever see it again. He turned back to Arthur, but saw that he and Gwen were sharing a private goodbye.

"Be careful," Gwen took Arthur's hands in hers and he smiled down at her. "I'll be waiting for you." Arthur leaned down to kiss her hand. She turned to Merlin. "You, too, Merlin. Stay safe."

Merlin nodded, and Arthur turned his horse away. Merlin followed as they trotted out the gate and into the roads of the city. The city was still and silent, as it was still early in the morning. Arthur gazed around with a faraway look in his eyes, and Merlin thought it wise not to speak. The lonely trot of the horses echoed throughout the sleeping city.

Neither made a noise until they reached the cover of the woods. Snatches of bird songs carried over to their ears, and the low croak of a frog could be heard in the distance. Merlin was once again seized by a fit of coughing, and he sat doubled over, feeling as though he was emptying his guts horribly over the side of the horse. Arthur turned around in the saddle to see Merlin stop the horse.

Merlin's coughing grew, and he threw himself off of the horse to heave up the contents of his stomach into the bush. Arthur dismounted as well, and he walked over to put a hand on his manservant's shuddering shoulder. Slowly, Merlin regained control of his body, and fell in a heap on the ground.

"All right?" Arthur asked. As he heard himself say it ,though, he knew it was a stupid question. But he needed Merlin to say or do something, anything at all. Merlin nodded weakly before pulling himself up on to his feet. "Perhaps we should rest here for a little bit." Arthur looked anxiously back down the road they had followed and say that they were only just inside the boundaries of the forest. They really couldn't afford to stop here when they hadn't traveled far enough, but Arthur was more concerned about Merlin's well being. If Merlin couldn't go a few miles without stopping, then they would never make it to their destination in time.

"I'm fine," Merlin said, his voice hoarse. "Let's keep moving." Arthur took one last look at his manservant, and then watched him mount his horse before going to his own.

"If you say so," Arthur replied. He resolved to keep his horse side-by-side Merlin's for now, so he could keep an eye on him.

The sun began to rise over the forest, throwing every living thing into sharper focus. Arthur kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, so that he would be ready for anything that might appear on the road. There was nothing, though, and they walked on in peace.

When the afternoon came, Camelot was a small and insignificant dot in the distant horizon. They had been traveling under the cover of leafy trees so long that Merlin longed for the open, blue sky and the wind on his back. After all, he found himself thinking, could this be the last time that he could see the blue skies and fluffy clouds?

A moment later and Merlin shoved the thought from his mind, guilt and distaste replacing it. He didn't know why he was being so pessimistic. He had confidence in Arthur; he had confidence in the success of the journey. So why did these thoughts keep creeping up in his mind?

Though the sun was shining happily over the tops of the dense trees, Merlin still felt a sneaking cold growing in his bones. He began to shiver without realizing it, but Arthur did.

"Too cold for you, Merlin?" Arthur asked, taking a brave stab at his usual over confident and condescending manner of speaking. He tossed over a thick wool blanket to his manservant, who gratefully wrapped it around himself. "Thought we might be needing that for the nights, and I was right. Except it isn't even night yet, and you're already shivering like a wet pup!"

Merlin incredulously mouthed the words 'wet pup' and rolled his eyes behind Arthur's back.

The night fell eventually, casting dark shadows over the forest floor. Merlin was constantly on edge, thinking even e slightest noise was the growl of a bloodthirsty creature. He was almost relieved when Arthur pulled his horse off of the path to a small clearing.

"We can rest here for the night," Arthur announced. He dismounted and began to collect twigs and branches for the fire, much to Merlin's surprise and enjoyment. Noticing the smugness emanating from his manservant, Arthur added, "Don't give me that look. It always takes you far too long to collect firewood, so laugh if you want, but I would prefer to see the beast before it eats me. "

These words made Merlin scramble to get off his horse, and he began to gather firewood alongside the prince. As Merlin bent over to tug a piece of wood out from under a pile of rocks and leaves, his strength seemed to dissolve suddenly and the numbness returned to his muscles. He fell onto his back with a thump, and the branch he had been trying to free remained in the ground.

Arthur whipped around, hearing the noise, to see Merlin struggling to get to his feet. Arthur ran over to him and took his arm, pulling him up, only to have Merlin collapse again on the ground.

"I think I'll stay down here for a bit," Merlin said in a small voice. Arthur bit his lip as he stood over his manservant, silently assessing the situation.

"Right, then," Arthur said. "I'll just start the fire here." Arthur arranged the twigs and pieces of wood in a pile and proceeded to use rocks to light the fire. "You all right?" Arthur asked, concentrating on starting the fire.

"Fine," Merlin responded gloomily, wondering how many more times he would be asked that question, and how many more times he would give a lie in response.

After successfully lighting the fire, Arthur sat back and drew his pack over to him. He pulled out some pieces of bread and handed them over to the warlock.

The crackle of the fire filled the quiet as the two ate their simple meals. Once Arthur had finished, he leaned back into his blanket, tossing around to find the most comfortable position to sleep in.

The fire was dying down when Merlin decided to sleep. He turned on his side, away from the peaceful face of the dozing prince. He had piled several blankets on top of himself, as the shivers still shot up his spine.

Arthur had almost drifted off completely to sleep, when Merlin began to cough dreadfully. Arthur shot up in a moment, now wide awake, and he crawled over to Merlin's side. Merlin was writhing and thrashing underneath the heavy blankets as Arthur attempted to free him.

"Merlin!" Arthur said, wrestling with his frenzied manservant. "Merlin, calm down!" Slowly, the coughing subsided, though not as quickly as before.

Arthur eased Merlin back down on to the blankets. The boy was wheezing, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. His arm slipped off of his chest and fell limply with a thud on to the ground.

"What can I do?" Arthur asked, his hands hovering over Merlin. He began to tuck the blankets around Merlin, hating the feeling of uselessness while his manservant, his friend, was clearly in pain.

" 'M fine," Merlin whispered, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. "Go back to sleep, Arthur." Arthur bit his lip, staring down at the limp figure lying on the ground.

"Okay," Arthur said, pushing over the skein of water to Merlin. "But wake me if you need anything." Arthur went back to his makeshift bed. Before allowing himself to fall asleep, though, he propped his back up against a tree so that he was facing the now peacefully sleeping Merlin, and he could be ready for anything that was to come.

**What do you think? Thanks for reading and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the reviews, everyone, and all the follows! Here is the next chapter. Hope you all enjoy! Reviews are really appreciated, thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

"Eat, you'll need your strength," Arthur called back to Merlin as they rode the horses down a small path. "We've got a long days ride in front of us, and we've got to be on our guard. Today we'll pass into Cenred's kingdom, and there may be small patrols along the border. We should hide from them when they pass, but we must be prepared to engage in combat if we have no choice... Merlin, are you even listening to me?" Arthur twisted around in his saddle it glare down the warlock. He could not do so, however, without noticing the dark circles under Merlin's eyes and the weary way he held himself.

"Every word, Sire," Merlin replied with a grin, making Arthur smile as well at the presence of Merlin's old attitude.

"You know, Merlin," Arthur said. "We're alone out here, you don't have to call me sire."

"What would you prefer? Dollop head or prat?" Merlin asked sarcastically.

"What ever happened to clot pole?" Arthur said, thinking he had never been so happy to hear Merlin call him those names.

"Not since you started using it," Merlin said, making Arthur laugh.

"To be fair, though, I think it could apply to the both of us," This time Merlin joined in on the laughter.

Arthur waited with baited breath for something to happen; for Merlin to begin coughing uncontrollably or for him to fall off of his horse in some sort of spasm like he had experienced earlier.

But none came, and Arthur allowed his grin to widen and his scrutiny filled gaze to soften. He guided his horse back on to the path, and they set off, flushed with the thrill of friendship and the prospects of a brand new day.

"There," Arthur said, pointing towards a bank of trees not far from where they stood. "Cenred's kingdom. Be prepared, Merlin. Merlin?"

Arthur turned to see Merlin had a sort of dazed look in his eyes. Arthur stopped the horses, and Merlin fell off of his with a thud. At first, Arthur knew it had to be part of the illness, and he was ready to dismount and tend to his friend. Then he saw the men on horseback behind Merlin, and one of them had his club raised, clearly finished with knocking Merlin out.

Arthur drew his sword and charged the bandits. They were not skilled swordsman, nor were their weapons of the best quality, but there were many of them in the path, nearly seven or eight. Arthur whirled around in his saddle, cutting and jabbing at any who came near. He was winning, but only just.

Merlin sat up from the ground, a pounding in his head where the bandit had clubbed him. In a sort of haze, he could see Arthur fighting the bandits, and so he drew himself up on to his feet. Merlin stumbled to his horse and fumbled for the sword strapped onto the side of the saddle.

Once he had a firm grasp on the sword, he turned to the bandits. He had never been the best of fighters, as an obnoxious prince constantly reminded him, but he was better than the bandits. He swung his sword, catching a bandit who had dismounted his horse and was rummaging through Merlin's bags. The bandit scrambled back with a cut on his chest, but he still clung to the bag. As the bandit ran, Merlin prepared to follow but was stopped short by another.

This one had a cruel sneer on his face, and it was clear from the way he used his sword that he was one of the better warriors in the pack. Their swords clashed, the sound echoing in the forest. Merlin couldn't look up to see how Arthur was doing; he could only concentrate on the long, deadly piece of steel coming at him.

Merlin knew what was going to happen before it actually did. As if on cue, the strength drained from his left leg. Merlin faltered and slowly crumbled to the ground, as his right leg was unable to support his whole body.

The moment seemed to stretch on as the bandit slashed his sword across Merlin's chest, drawing blood. Merlin limped backwards, clutching his shirt to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Suddenly, a sword was shoved through the bandit's stomach, and when the bandit fell, Arthur stood over him.

"Merlin," Arthur looked down at the blood on Merlin's hands. He immediately began to rip off pieces of his jacket, intending to bind the wound up.

"Just a scratch," Merlin said with a grin. His smile died under the seriousness of Arthur's gaze. "What about the other bandits? Did you get them all?"

"One of them got away. He was holding something, but I couldn't see what it was. I was too busy saving your sorry backside," Arthur growled as he finished with the wound. Merlin laughed and sat up, a grimace of pain flashing across his face. Arthur threw him a look of pity before helping him to his feet, his strength having returned to all of his limbs.

"Merlin," Arthur said as he picked up the discarded sword. "Actually, you did...well. That was some, um, good work."

"No need to sound so surprised," Merlin replied with a smug look on his face. "If you knew how many times I've saved you from certain doom..."

"Yes, I know, I'm supposedly forever in your debt," Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin carefully walked over to the horses and began to examine their bags. Merlin suddenly froze, making Arthur look up immediately in concern. "What is it? Your wound?" Arthur tried to keep his voice level.

"Our bag. The bandits took one of our bags," Merlin said, his eyes wide with worry. Arthur sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"Damn," Arthur said. "Well, there wasn't anything vital in them was there?" When Merlin stayed silent, Arthur swallowed hard and asked again, "Was there?"

"The map," Merlin said in a small voice. "The map to the spring, it was in the bag they took." There was a beat of silence, as Merlin's words sunk in.

"Okay, right. Right then," Arthur said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Um, okay. No, I know where the spring is. I studied the map extensively before we left, and I pride myself in a perfect memory. So first we have to find the Black Mountains, right? Yes, I think they're that way..." Merlin interrupted Arthur's anxious rambling.

The young warlock collapsed on the ground, where he began to shudder and choke. He was convulsing madly, his eyes closed, but Arthur could see his eyes spinning around wildly behind the thin lids. Arthur fell to his knees and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, forcing him to be motionless. For a moment, Merlin suddenly fell still. Arthur shook him by the shoulders, maybe harder than he meant, as if his hands alone could wake the unconscious boy.

Merlin's breathing was soft, far too quiet for any man. Arthur bent over his chest, listening frantically for the thump of his heart, and finding only a uncommonly slow beat, like the dirge at a funeral. Arthur pulled Merlin off to the side of the road, and laid him down on a blanket.

"We may as well rest here," Arthur said to himself, and he placed his pack down. He had no intention of staying for long, as Merlin's condition was clearly worsening, and so he gathered no wood for fire. Besides, he could not bring himself to leave Merlin's side, not while he was in such a state.

Arthur leaned back, and with a final glance at his manservant, he fell asleep. It was a light sleep, as his mind was too clouded with worry and strain that he could not fully sleep. His eyes snapped open when Merlin made a small sound.

"Ar...Arthur," Merlin rasped. Arthur went to his side and saw to his dismay that Merlin's eyes were still closed. Suddenly, Merlin lashed out wildly, his limbs kicking out, and had it not been for Arthur's battle reflexes, he would have been kicked in the stomach.

The moment had passed, though, and Merlin's arms and legs fell limply back into their previous positions. With dread, Arthur leaned over Merlin and saw a flush to his cheeks. Arthur laid a hand over Merlin's forehead and felt a raging fire beneath him. He wet a strip of cloth using their supply of water, and laid it gingerly over Merlin's forehead.

Arthur checked the bandaging around Merlin's chest, and, as he expected, Merlin's violent movements had caused the wound to bleed again. Arthur patiently bound Merlin's chest once more, then he sat back on his heels.

He couldn't sleep now even if he wanted to, so he contented himself with some bread to eat. The night came on fast, and Arthur still was reluctant to go collect firewood. Merlin was sleeping peacefully now, save for the occasional moan or cough, both acting as a fist to Arthur's stomach. He couldn't stand to see Merlin like this. Annoying Merlin, stupid Merlin, useless Merlin. Wise Merlin, positive Merlin. Brave Merlin.

Arthur gathered his blanket up around him as a cold wind swept through the forest.

Arthur once told Merlin that the darkest hour was just before the dawn. They had been facing the Dorocha, and Camelot's doom, along with his own, had seemed inevitable. And yet they had prevailed, but at a horrible price. Now, as Arthur sat hunched over with Merlin unconscious at his feet, he wondered if they would even survive the night, and if they did, what price they would have to pay for the sun to rise once more.

**What do you think? Please leave a review, and thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up soon.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for all the reviews, hope you enjoy! Please leave a review when you're done! Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

Arthur found it all intensely depressing, the silence of the forest and the silence of his manservant. He had strapped Merlin into his saddle, where he slumped over, still sleeping. He had woken once before out of his tormented dreams, and had blinked blearily at Arthur. Arthur had rushed over to him and nearly force-fed him some bread and water, as Merlin hadn't eaten since the attack of the bandits.

His fever would fluctuate throughout the day; in the morning it would be dangerously high, but by night it would be lowered somewhat. Then, by the next morning it would rise again. Arthur was at a loss as to what to do. He could only tip water down Merlin's throat, wait for it to go down, and then pull him back on to the horse.

It was a lonely ride. Sometimes, he would hear rustling behind him, and he would turn eagerly, thinking it was Merlin waking. But Merlin stayed in his troubled sleep, and Arthur was confined to the solitary thoughts in his head. He tried whistling, but found the complete and utter silence to drown out his near cheerful tune. And then he turned back to Merlin, and the sound died in his throat.

Arthur had only one clue as to where they were headed; the mountains rising in front of him. He was sure that if he could just make it to the foot of the mountain, everything would be okay. He would find the spring from there, and Merlin would be back on his feet in no time.

It was a blessing that the road had not been traveled on recently. Arthur was still wary of bandits, or worse yet, Cenred's men. He knew that if they came, he would have no chance of defeating them, not with Merlin so ill.

Arthur pulled his horses to the side of the path and dismounted, meaning to check on Merlin. He tugged Merlin's shirt up and peeled back the soiled bandages to get to the wound.

The long cut, looking to be virtually harmless when Arthur had first tended to it, was now red and raw, the skin around it was swollen. The wound was clearly infected. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if this was an effect of Merlin's disease, or if Arthur simply didn't treat it properly.

He was a warrior, not a man of medicine. Though he knew the bare essentials to healing, he didn't know enough to heal an infected wound. It was usually Merlin's job to know all that...

And now Merlin was dying. Arthur had never felt so alone, so isolated. The only thing he could do now was forge onward, to the mountains. They were tantalizingly close now, but Arthur knew he needed more than just time to get there. He needed a stroke of luck.

This miraculous stroke of luck came late in the day. Smoke was rising off to the side of the path. Smoke meant people. People who could help.

Arthur urged the horses on, and they sped towards this glimmer of hope, this teasing prospect of salvation.

He came upon a wide clearing where a group of people had structured a temporary camp. There were two old tents crowded around a fire pit in the center of the clearing. Arthur cautiously drew closer, but he saw no one outside the tents.

There was movement inside one of the tents, and an old man stooped through the tent opening. He bent over the crackling fire, stretching his hands out to warm them.

"Care to join me, stranger?" the old man called out in a kind, amiable voice. Arthur bit his lip, and then slowly led his horse and Merlin's out into the clearing. The old man had startling blue eyes and a shock of pure white hair. He smiled at Arthur and waved him forward. "My name is Salus," he added, extending a withered hand to the prince. Arthur shook it steadily.

"My friend is sick. Can you help us at all?" Arthur asked. The old man chuckled, and pulled Merlin's horse over to his side. Arthur hauled Merlin down and settled him on the ground. The old man examined Merlin carefully, lifting up his shirt to view the wound and laying a hand across his feverish forehead. "He was attacked by a harpy. I was trying to get him to the Dryht spring at the foot of the Black mountains, as I was told the water would heal him..."

"He would not survive the journey," Salus said solemnly. "He is too weak from the fever. Yet the spring would heal him, I am certain of it."

Arthur sat on the ground pondering the situation while Salus tended to Merlin's wound and tackled the fever. There was a rustling inside the tent, and a young boy stepped out. His hair was as white blonde as the old man's, and he couldn't have been older than ten years of age.

"Petro," Salus called to the boy. "Go and fetch me some yarrow. Ah, and some willow bark. Herbs that will help bring down the fever," he added to Arthur, who watched the boy dash enthusiastically off into the forest.

"It's getting dark out, though. Aren't you afraid for his safety?" Arthur looked nervously after the boy.

"The boy can hold his own, I assure you," the old man said with a mysterious smile. "Forgive me, but I never asked. What is your name, my friend?"

"My name is..." Arthur considered lying, but the man was helping them. The least he could do was tell the truth. "Arthur Pendragon. And this is my manservant, Merlin." The old man gave a start, and Arthur couldn't be sure, but he thought the old man was reacting to Merlin's name, not his own.

"You are Uther's son?" Salus asked quietly. Arthur nodded. He fell silent for a moment before speaking. "I will not hold this against you, Arthur Pendragon. You have shown kindness and respect to the boy and me. But I think you have a right to know that the boy and I are Druids, and we practice magic." Arthur took a deep breath.

"If you can help Merlin," Arthur said. "I will leave you and the boy in peace. I will not harm you, I swear." The old man smiled, and turned back to Merlin just as the boy returned.

"Here, Salus," the boy trilled, presenting the greenery he had collected. While the old man looked them over, the boy studied Arthur. Arthur stared back, surprised that someone so young could have eyes so old.

"No, no, yarrow, Petro," the old man pointed to the herbs in his hand.

"Oh," the boy said, and with a brilliant grin, he ran back into the trees once more. Arthur looked on after him, his mind at work. What if this boy were to pick up a poisonous plant by mistake, then what would happen? Salus was old, what if his eyes could not tell the difference again? Seeing the worried and startled look on Arthur's face, the old man laughed.

"He means well," Salus said fondly. "He is very eager to learn, very curious. He is more dedicated to his tasks than you think, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur's eyes drifted unconsciously to Merlin's resting form.

"It is not my place to ask," the old man said. "But I am very curious. Why would the prince of Camelot venture into enemy lands for the sake of a simple servant?"

"Merlin," Arthur said, a faint smile on his face. "Is anything but a simple servant."

Petro came back, this time with the right herbs, and sat down next to the old man to watch him work over Merlin. After a while, Salus leaned back and Arthur sat up excitedly.

"I'm afraid he still needs the healing water. As he could not survive the journey, I see only one option," he said, and Arthur nodded.

"I must go alone to the spring," Arthur said. "I will leave immediately." Salus smiled sadly and turned back to Merlin, who was groaning in his sleep.

The sun was just rising over the forest when Arthur mounted his horse and spurred it on towards the looming mountains.

**Thanks for reading, please review! Oh, and heads up, I'm thinking two or three more chapters and I'm adding the reveal. But, I'm also starting another Merlin story, so stay tuned for that if you're interested. Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Next chapter up! We get some Merlin pov in this chapter. Well, sort of. Oh, and the reveal! Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review when you're done! One more chapter! Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

_The courtyard was silent, the faces of the unwilling spectators grave._

_Many recognized him, the good-natured servant of the prince who would often lend a helping hand to anyone in need. The servant who was intensely loyal and incredibly brave. Merlin, the servant._

_Merlin the warlock._

_There was nothing anyone could do. They believed there had to be a mistake. Sweet, gentle Merlin could not be a bloodthirsty warlock. It just wasn't in his nature._

_And yet here he stood, condemned to death by fire._

_The prince stood up in the balcony, his face filled with disgust and anger. There was no trace of pity in his features, no hint of guilt for what was about to occur._

_The guards led Merlin to the mountain of wood looming in the center of the courtyard. Several men stood by, torches ready in their hands. Merlin saw the face of Gaius in the crowd. The old man wept silent tears of acceptance. Gwen stood nearby, her eyes full of horror at the sight of her friend walking to his death._

_Merlin was forced up the steps to the stage, and Arthur moved to the bannister, his arm raised._

_"Magic," he declared. "Is an evil practice that has been outlawed throughout my father's reign. We stand here today to make an example of those who use magic, and are therefore a threat to Camelot."_

_Merlin was tied harshly to the single pole in the middle of the wood. _

_"I thought you were my friend, Arthur!" Merlin cried, unable to stay quiet. _

_"You are no friend of mine," Arthur spat. The torches were lowered to the wood, instantly lighting the pyre. The flames rose, and the watching crowd looked away in horror._

_Merlin was burning; the raging fire was consuming him. He screamed, but no one could hear him as he plunged into the deep darkness._

"Emrys," a soft voice whispered. Merlin felt as though he was drowning in deep, black water. He struggled to reach the surface to answer this elusive voice, and yet the water pressed down on him, suffocating him. "Emrys!" the voice was more urgent now, and Merlin knew he had to answer. He swam desperately up through the water, the dream, or rather nightmare, he had just endured seemed to weigh his body down in the fight. "It is Arthur, he is in trouble!"

Merlin's eyes flew open at these words. Immediately, he was bombarded with harsh light and thunderous noises as his senses scrambled to adjust. He blinked wildly and swallowed hard, his body becoming accustomed to being awake.

His mind attempted to catalogue the pain, but there was simply too much. His whole body ached constantly and his throat was dry and parched as a desert. It felt as though a sword was lodged firmly in his head, and being pushed further in with each moment he was awake. He almost succumbed to the sleep. At least when he was asleep, his body would not be in pain. Only his mind, at the mercy of his nightmares. He couldn't decide which fate was worse.

But he clawed his way back to consciousness, the words spoken by the stranger bent over him rallying him to stay awake. Arthur was in trouble.

He realized rather belatedly that this old man knew his name. He knew that Merlin was Emrys, and he knew who Arthur was. Merlin could find no explanation for this other than that the man was a Druid. Only they knew who he was.

Merlin tried to raise himself off the ground, but a gentle hand held him back. The old man looked down upon him gravely.

"Emrys," the man said. "You are dying." The words were calm and simple, and Merlin knew them to be true. He could feel the strength leaving his bones as he lay there on the ground, he could hear the desperate thump of a heart that knew it's days and it's hours were numbered. The man continued on. "But Arthur went to the spring without you. I fear that if he is not protected, he will be harmed. He is not safe without you by his side."

Merlin opened his mouth, but found he could not speak. His throat was too dry to from any sort of coherent sound. The old man hastily brought forth the water skein and tilted the contents down Merlin's throat.

"Help me up. Please," Merlin said. The old man contemplated him for a minute, but the restraining hand remained on Merlin's chest.

"You are dying," he repeated. "If you go to Arthur... You will surely perish." Merlin shook his head as the old man talked.

"If I don't," Merlin wheezed, his breathing labored. "Both Arthur and I will die anyway." With this statement, the old man pulled back his hand. Merlin sat up, the fever still ravaging his body. He forced himself to stand as the old man watched solemnly.

"Emrys," a new voice came from behind Merlin. Merlin turned too quickly and was about to fall as a young boy reached out to steady the warlock. "Be careful. Please. You will lead our kind to salvation. You must take care of yourself."

Merlin looked long and hard into the boy's eyes. His breathing steadied and he stood up straight, only swaying a little bit. There was something calming about the boy's presence, something that filled Merlin with strength. He went over to his horse, taking long and deep breaths. He fumbled for the straps and lifted himself on to the saddle. The old man reached out once more to take Merlin's hand and gave it a soft squeeze, his face grim. Merlin took one last look at the man and the boy, then turned and spurred his horse on to the foot of the mountain.

Arthur could hear the rush of water from nearby, the telltale sign of a river.

There was a crack from behind him, as if someone had stepped on a twig or branch on the forest floor. Arthur whipped around, years of battle training and refined reflexes saving his life as the arrow drove into the tree trunk. He drew his sword, a determined look on his face, as his eyes scanned the forest, searching for the threat.

There were four of them in all, dressed in suits of armor bearing Cenred's crest. Arthur mentally cursed himself for falling into such a well-placed trap. He should have been more alert, more on guard, but his mind had been completely distracted. His thoughts were consumed with Merlin, how he was doing, if Arthur could get the water in time, and the consequences of his failure. Arthur tried not to think about those, though.

Maybe he was in denial, but he couldn't help it. Merlin was the only constant in his life, the only thing that made sense. Merlin was his oldest friend, and he trusted him with his life. He was the only honest person in Arthur's world. In a kingdom full of people wishing only to please you, even if that meant lying or softening the truth, it was refreshing to have one honest, truthful man. Even if the truth hurt, Merlin would tell him. Arthur could count on him to always be there.

And Arthur needed that in his life. Without Merlin... well, his life would turn into a lie. And when Arthur would become king, he would need Merlin more than ever. He would never admit it to the boy, of course, Arthur reflected as he reigned in his jumbled thoughts. But maybe he ought to, he reasoned.

No, he couldn't let Merlin die. And so Arthur turned on the armed men, tightening his grip on the sword in his hand. He slashed and stabbed at the first man who came at him, successfully drawing blood on his opponent. He couldn't let Merlin die. Two men rushed him at once, but he ducked under their deadly swipes, slashing at their unprotected legs. He was winning, and Merlin would not die.

Merlin heard the clang of swords, and he urged his horse onward. He stopped at the edge of a clearing, where Arthur was holding his own against four enemies. Merlin tried to dismount in a dignified manner, but only ended up falling off his horse. He lay in a heap on the ground. All right, get up, he told himself. His body would not respond. He frowned as he commanded his muscles to move once more. Get up! He nearly shouted in his head, but he stayed on the ground. He could barely lift his head up to look how Arthur was doing.

Arthur's mind went on autopilot, the sword in his hand swinging in deadly arcs, moving as if it were an extension of his arm. He was winning, and only two of the four soldiers were left standing. He could afford a little bravado, he figured, and he twirled his sword and beckoned them on with a mocking hand. There was a rustle and a thump off to his left, and he tore his eyes away from his two opponents to look behind them.

A horse with no rider stood at the edge of the clearing, nervously pawing the ground with its hooves. A bundle of something, blankets or clothes, Arthur wondered, lay unmoving on the ground. Then Arthur noticed the shock of raven black hair and the bright red neckerchief that he recognized so well.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, fury building in his bones. Why the hell would he follow him? Merlin was ill; he could barely walk, for God's sake! Foolish boy, idiot boy!

The distraction in the form of Merlin cost Arthur dearly. It only took a few swipes of the enemy's sword to push Arthur down on his knees. He knelt on the forest floor, completely at their mercy. The only thought in his head was the knowledge that not only would he die, but Merlin as well.

Suddenly, there was a massive blast of wind, as if a solid wall of air had crashed into Arthur. He tumbled over on to his back, and he lay there for a few minutes, winded by the fall. He pulled himself up, blinking wildly, to see the liquid gold burning in Merlin's eyes. From where he sat, Arthur could feel the raw power emanating from Merlin's body, pulsing like a life force, like a beating heart.

The assailants were unconscious and scattered about the clearing, having received the full force of Merlin's spell. Arthur struggled to his feet, his shaky legs barely supporting him.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked uncertainly, his voice betraying his confusion and a hint of fear. Not that he was afraid of Merlin. No, he was more afraid of what would happen as a result of this revelation.

For a moment, Merlin stood tall and straight, drawn up to his full height. Arthur noticed a presence in his friend's face that he had never witnessed before. Was it… power? Arthur wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it was almost intimidating. He had never seen Merlin like this before. Merlin had only ever been the mouthy manservant who would always speak his mind, the trusted and valued friend, the occasional wise and experienced man.

But an all-powerful warlock? The thought had never crossed Arthur's mind. Was he angry, did he feel betrayed? Maybe, he wondered. But he wasn't angry that Merlin used magic, especially when he had just saved Arthur's life. He was angrier that the boy had never told him. Arthur thought back on all the times that Merlin could have revealed his secret. Didn't he trust Arthur at all? Did he actually think that Arthur would turn him in as a sorcerer and willingly let him die? And there were times Arthur had been, well, unappreciative is a word he would use. But Arthur had always made up for it, hadn't he? Was he that bad of a friend that Merlin would keep secrets like this from him? Did Merlin even consider him a friend at all?

The idea that Arthur could ever truly harm Merlin was absurd. At least, to Arthur it was. But to Merlin? They had had serious conversations before, most had been when they were both desperate and on occasions when they were not certain they would survive, and Merlin had given answers. But now, after learning that he had been lied to once, could Arthur truly accept those answers? He trusted Merlin, he trusted him with his life. He trusted Merlin to tell the truth. Yet to think that Merlin didn't feel the same way made Arthur feel wretched. He was angry with himself, for making it so that Merlin could never tell him.

Arthur's mind buzzed with the unanswered questions and the examination of his past actions. He stared into Merlin's eyes as the young man stared unwaveringly back. Arthur extended a hand, reaching towards his friend, only to see Merlin fall to his knees and then face down on the forest floor.

**Thanks for reading, please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Last chapter! I am both sad and satisfied. Thanks to all who added this to their alerts, all who favorited, and all who reviewed! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And now, I present to you the final chapter…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

It took Arthur for what seemed like years before he could reach Merlin. He felt as though he was struggling against a wall, pushing and shoving, but making no progress with each attempt. And Merlin was just lying there, motionless. Oh, God, what if it was too late? What if Merlin was already dead and gone, his fragile soul carried away to some distant land? Arthur threw himself down on to the harsh ground, ignoring the cries of protest from his knees. Arthur reached for Merlin, cradling his thin body in his arms. Merlin's eyes opened a fraction and Arthur cried out in joy, for just one moment.

"Merlin," Arthur said, his shaking hands rattling his friend's limp body. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Had to... follow you. Had to save you," Merlin coughed weakly, and to Arthur's horror, the blood stained Merlin's lips. He was down to the last stages of the illness.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "You have magic." Merlin coughed once more, and Arthur rallied himself to move. He dragged Merlin with all his strength towards the trickling spring set at the base of the mountain.

It was a beautiful place, serene and picturesque. The water was clear and sparkling blue, not unlike the startling hue of Merlin's eyes. It was a cool and calming place, a sort of haven or oasis in the middle of the dense and green forest. The mountain towered high above the ground, casting an eternal shadow over the little spring.

It was strange to Arthur, that so little and insignificant a place could have such power, the power to cure Merlin. Merlin, who was a warlock. Merlin, who had been lying to him this whole time. Merlin, the bravest and most selfless man he knew. Merlin, his best friend.

Without hesitation, Arthur parted Merlin's lips. He had no time to fetch a cup or anything like that, so scooped up the cool water with his bare hands. He carefully trickled the water down into Merlin's mouth, not wanting to spill the precious liquid. Merlin swallowed with difficulty. His eyes drifted shut and his body grew still.

"Come on, Merlin!" Arthur shook Merlin's shoulders wildly. "Merlin, wake up, _now_!"

Arthur watched in mingled relief and lingering fear as Merlin drew a shuddering cough. Arthur was surprised to feel cool tears trace down his cheeks, as Merlin blinked, his eyes darting around in confusion.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, the frantic tone in his voice receding. His hands hovered as Merlin sat up on his own.

"I feel…" Merlin wasn't sure what he felt. That last few hours were in a sort of blur. And yet, he distinctly remembered that familiar burn of magic leaving his body, and the prince's shocked face at the display. Merlin froze. Had he really used his magic in front of Arthur? Surely it must have been for a good reason, he wondered. Slowly, the events that had unfolded returned to him, filling in the spaces between Merlin leaving the Druids in a flurry of movement and agonizing pain, between Arthur kneeling over him, crying. Merlin stared as the drops of salty liquid racing down Arthur's cheeks. Only on rare occasions had he seen the prince cry. And now, he was crying over Merlin. "Fine." Merlin finished. "I… I feel fine," he repeated, as if to convince himself.

Arthur sat back on his heels. Merlin coughed again, and Arthur wordlessly passed the skein of water over to him. He drank quickly and greedily, soothing his raw throat. He handed the skein back and licked his lips nervously.

"We should take some of that water back to Camelot. Might be useful," Merlin said in a joking tone, nodding back to the trickling spring. Arthur simply stared at him, the scrutiny of his gaze making Merlin's skin crawl.

"Speaking of Camelot," Arthur said in a quiet voice. "We should return now that you're well enough." Merlin waited for something more, perhaps a snide comment about the state of the stables after such a long absence, or the armor that need to be polished by tomorrow. It was almost puzzling to Merlin when Arthur got to his feet and went over to the horses. Then Merlin remembered why Arthur was acting this way. The magic.

Arthur glanced back at Merlin's solitary figure.

"Do you need help getting up?" Arthur asked. There was no subtle tone of sarcasm under his words, no acidic innuendo in the offer. He was sincere. And that made Merlin worry.

Merlin shook his head, and went to his waiting horse. He couldn't help but watch Arthur out of the corner of his eye, studying his movements as he mounted his horse.

"What about the Druids?" Merlin asked in a rather timid voice, remembering the old man and the boy. Arthur glanced up.

"Oh," Arthur replied. "They should be all right." Arthur left it at that. Merlin still had more questions, but he fell silent instead.

They had reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss anything until they reached Camelot. And though it might have been wiser to talk about it in the open forest, far from prying ears, neither felt comfortable addressing it so soon. They both had to reflect on the repercussions of Merlin's secret. Yes, This could wait. Hell, it had waited for all these years, why not a bit longer, Arthur thought, a hint of bitterness and anger coloring this thought. As for Merlin, he was mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of questions, rebukes, and lectures from the clearly angry Arthur.

Merlin tried to quell the uneasiness churning in his stomach, but he was unsuccessful. He found himself constantly glancing at the prince's stiff and unyielding figure, trying to glean any emotion apart from the composed anger from Arthur's face. The words spilled from Merlin's mouth before he could help it.

"Thank you," Merlin said simply. He stared straight ahead of him, not meeting the prince's preoccupied stare.

"Thank you? What for?" Arthur was drawn out of his thoughts by Merlin's words. He looked around distractedly at his manservant, but Merlin was looking everywhere except at the prince.

"For saving me," Merlin explained. He swallowed hard, his mind at work as well. If Arthur wasn't making any cynical observations about Merlin's gratitude, it must mean that the prince was either really angry or very deep in thought. Merlin could handle the former. What he couldn't handle, though, was Arthur throwing out some heavily considered and revised argument at him. Because Merlin didn't really know what to say. And how could he explain to Arthur without starting from the beginning, the very beginning? Merlin could only imagine where that conversation would take them. He couldn't even start with his birth, but would have to go even farther and explain the trials of his father, Balinor. And then that would lead to another round of interrogation from Arthur, and Merlin didn't think he could take so much in one day. He had just been on his deathbed, after all. The last thing he needed was a fully aware Arthur on his best behavior and completely immersed in considering the secrets Merlin had been keeping.

But they had to talk about it sometime. That, Merlin was certain of. And so he waited in apprehension, his knuckles tight on the reins of his horse.

"Oh," Arthur said, taken off guard. "You're welcome." If this was meant to calm Merlin's growing distress, it achieved the opposite. It only made the young warlock begin to breath heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating. He knew he was overreacting, but his weak body and mind, racked by the illness, was susceptible to even the tiniest of triggers. In this case, Arthur's response was enough to set Merlin off. "I suppose I should say thank you, too."

Merlin twisted in his saddle to stare at Arthur. He studied the prince's face, looking for any sign of insincerity. It was only more disturbing to Merlin that he found none. Oh, God, Merlin thought. This is not going to be pleasant. It was Merlin's turn to say, "For what?"

"You know damn well what," Arthur growled, his anger seeping into his words, spoiling his otherwise thoroughly deliberated presentation. He had intended to deliver his speech in a calm and patient manner. However, he simply couldn't push his emotions far enough away from the logical side of his brain. Merlin nodded slightly, his attempt at feigning ignorance failing miserably under Arthur's scrutiny.

"Look," Merlin began, the words now tumbling hurriedly out of his mouth. "I am sorry. I kept a secret for all these years, and I'm sorry for that. But I can't help who I am, Arthur. I was born with magic, and even if I could change that, I wouldn't." Merlin stopped his horse and looked Arthur straight in the eye. In that moment, Arthur was once again struck by the power and knowledge in Merlin's eyes. It had been hidden for so many years, save for those few moments when Merlin said something wise and profound, and Arthur had only caught a glimpse of what lay underneath Merlin's mask. But now, it was there, written plainly on his face, and Arthur wondered what else Merlin had successfully kept hidden. And it worried Arthur to think that Merlin had wiped his face of emotion in the past. When the warlock was in pain, was struggling with some burden, but Arthur was too stupid and Merlin's concealment too clever, and so Arthur couldn't see. When Arthur could have helped him, could have been the friend he wanted to be.

And now, now what was he? A friend? Or, perhaps, a foe? A second troubling line of thought assaulted Arthur that he had not yet considered. Did Merlin blame him? Did he blame him for the persecution of the magical people, all of Merlin's people? People that Uther had killed, that Arthur had killed. An errant thought ran across Arthur's mind. _I was just following orders_, that tiny voice spoke up. Then a wave of anger swept over him. Was that any kind of excuse? No, he was responsible for his actions, and he alone. And now Arthur feared that Merlin would indeed hate him, blame him for everything. And Merlin had a right to, Arthur decided to himself.

"You must hate me," Arthur interrupted, accidentally speaking his mind. He hadn't meant to say that, but now Merlin raised his eyebrows in incredulity. He went on. "I let you down. I should have supported you, helped you. I should have been a better friend. You have every right to blame me for… for the horrors that occurred under my father's reign. You could have told me that you had magic, but you didn't. And I feel like that is my fault."

"No, Arthur. It wasn't your fault at all," Merlin replied. He could see the words bubbling on Arthur's lips and countered them before they fell. "It wasn't Uther's fault either," Merlin conceded. "I don't blame anyone. I just… I trust you, Arthur, but the time never felt… right." Arthur accepted this answer with a slight nod of his head. "And I could _never_ hate you. You're my best friend. And nothing could ever change that. At least, for me," Merlin added on.

"For me, as well," Arthur said in a small yet serious statement. "You're my only friend Merlin." Arthur grew still in his saddle, still thinking. "Thank you, Merlin." He said again, this time in a completely sincere voice. Merlin flashed him a small smile, still testing the atmosphere. When Arthur urged on his horse, Merlin allowed his smile to grow. Arthur glanced back at him.

"Well?" Arthur called back. "Are you coming, or not?" Merlin was grinning now, and he hurried to catch up with the smiling prince.

The End

**Thanks so much for reading and please review! THANKS!**

**Throughtherye**


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